newspapers. That in itself is fame, on the continent.

LADY CHILTERN. I hardly think there will be much in common between
you and my husband, Mrs. Cheveley! [Moves away.]

VICOMTE DE NANJAC. Ah! chere Madame, queue surprise! I have not
seen you since Berlin!

MRS. CHEVELEY. Not since Berlin, Vicomte. Five years ago!

VICOMTE DE NANJAC. And you are younger and more beautiful than ever.
How do you manage it?

MRS. CHEVELEY. By making it a rule only to talk to perfectly
charming people like yourself.

VICOMTE DE NANJAC. Ah! you flatter me. You butter me, as they say
here.

MRS. CHEVELEY. Do they say that here? How dreadful of them!

VICOMTE DE NANJAC. Yes, they have a wonderful language. It should
be more widely known.

[SIR ROBERT CHILTERN enters. A man of forty, but looking somewhat
younger. Clean-shaven, with finely-cut features, dark-haired and
dark-eyed. A personality of mark. Not popular - few personalities
are. But intensely admired by the few, and deeply respected by the
many. The note of his manner is that of perfect distinction, with a
slight touch of pride. One feels that he is conscious of the success